


Some Things are Sacred

by kuro49



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Choking, Dom Jason Todd, Dom/sub Undertones, First Time, M/M, Sub Bruce Wayne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-02-23 13:17:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23945482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: He doesn't want to be the only option or an ultimatum or the hundred thousand other hard choices Bruce had to make to get to this point. Jason wants to be easy for Bruce.Jason wants to be what Bruce picks if given all the options in the world.
Relationships: Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 19
Kudos: 172





	Some Things are Sacred

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Any Which Way](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23857699) by [whaleofatime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whaleofatime/pseuds/whaleofatime). 



> so i read whaleofatime's 10k slowburn and was slapped in the face by what i thought was God (but like benevolent y'know given these times) so please read that before this one because i can assure you it is like Satisfaction Guaranteed (also this is the porn continuation of it). 
> 
> another thing, this is me trying to half-ass emulate my babe's style with a less than half success rate.

It's really no more complex than a Rubik's cube or one of Riddler's more obscure riddles when handed a smart phone with access to a search engine. 

With time, and maybe even not too much of it, it can be solved.

But between Bruce's Batman gig and Jason's time as Red Hood (and everything that entails, both above and below board), sometimes time just gets away from the two of them. A little like the small time crooks when the villain of the week decides they would really rather enjoy a double spread in the Gotham Gazette. So, yeah, it does take a while longer for them to figure it all out. 

It's Wednesday when Batman drops down on the edge of the same roof Red Hood has settled himself in for the duration of the night. There are no coincidences when the end of his cape sweeps audibly against the rooftop tiles. For a man like the Bat of Gotham himself, he might as well be bellowing from the other end of town that he's right here with him.

"Jay." 

Jason tips his head, waves with a gloved hand: "Hey, B." 

It’s not awkward even when it could be. Jason has personally made it part of his own mission to bypass the discomfort and the strained, going so far as to push past the bullshit and the posturing and all the unsaid words to get to that gooey center containing the root of all their matters. It's affinity. It's also affection, admiration, and adoration. And all the other A+ A words that are associated to this Attraction of theirs if he wants to be particularly transparent about it.

(He is. Very much so.)

Jason goes about packing up his surveillance equipment, takes his time too as he cuts the night short and doesn't feel all that guilty when he gets to have the entirety of Bruce's attention for himself instead. It's the absence of a warning text or even a short brisk conversation over their private comm line that doesn't really disclose anything beyond the fact that Jason is to expect Bruce in some shape or form. And it makes Jason downright giddy at the thought because Bruce showing up here with no forewarning at all can only mean one thing.

Bruce is here on a whim.

And Bruce never does anything on a whim.

Jason isn't worried. Or he tries not to be. He is mindful instead. Because if Jason knows a single thing about Bruce, it's this: You have to let Bruce come to you on his own terms, at his own pace. And for the world's finest detective, Bruce can be incredibly clueless at times.

Jason is zipping up his duffel bag when Bruce approaches him. And even though he is in his full Bat regalia, Jason feels the bleed of emotions from the man all the same.

"You said, we would figure it out."

And Bruce’s voice is leveled in that very specific way that makes Jason forget how to breathe.

Bruce never does anything in quarters or even halves. The wording here is not a coincidence. But Jason is a man that has learned from his own mistakes (sometimes, not always, bat-carrier letters are nowhere as romantic as he thought they would be). He tries not to get ahead of himself, tries to keep his hopes at a measurable quantity still, tries for calm and zen and whatever else there is. Because he’s said it once, and he’ll say it all over again if asked. The potentiality to this thing of theirs is Bruce’s choice, and nothing short of having him finally choose Jason with the full understanding of what that implicates will get Jason jumping head first into the fray.

Jason breathes out: “I did.”

"...Can tonight be the night we figure it out?"

Jason's feelings have been laid out bare for Bruce to pick apart over a year ago. 

Like the scrape of peanut butter against toast, or maybe a little more like the jam spread thick on the other piece. Jason has been waiting since then for something to happen. The press of the two together to make a sandwich maybe, or the sink of Bruce's teeth into a crustless corner for the sight of all of Jason’s layers to be put on full display.

Whatever it is, the biggest surprise for Jason (aside from the fact that it is happening at all) is that the first time it happens, it doesn’t happen on a Third Thursday. This is going to make for some pretty annoying anniversary dates but he can work with that.

Yes, he thinks.

“Yes.” He says in answer.

It is not magical the way the moment comes together. Both of them have been through far too many sticky situations involving magic that rubbed them all wrong to associate it as a good thing. 

They are on the edge, Gotham’s skyline long since sunken into the dark. Jason doesn’t need to stand on his tip toes to bridge the distance between them, he barely even needs to stand up straight, and this is the moment where the satisfaction that comes with growing up to a height to match Bruce's finally settles into the marrow of his bones. It takes him barely a few seconds to have the mechanisms of his helmet to disengage. A small short hiss on the release, and Jason is pulling the bright red thing from his head. His hair curls ridiculously but Bruce has seen him looking far worse off.

Well, what Jason means is that the man has seen him _dead_. 

(Once you’ve seen a kid die, his corpse held cradled in your arms, there’s not many ways to go downhill from there. They still manage though, and the bottom hits hard and painful, with a couple of decapitated heads in a duffel bag to join the mess. But it's okay though, it's been going uphill for a while now, baby. And really, Jason wouldn't change it for the world. A few tweaks here and there, take out one or two crowbars, maybe. Probably.)

Jason wears a bright red bat across his heart. It’s a brazen confession each time he goes out in front of his underlings or takes to running distances akin to marathons atop the Gotham rooftops.

Now, his murmur booms louder than the combined beat of their hearts inside the confines of their reinforced Kevlar chest plates when he is leaning in to bring their mouths close enough for a kiss.

“I’m going to blow your mind tonight, B.”

Bruce follows through, closes that last breath of distance between them. And Jason thinks to himself as their mouths slot together, this is entirely worth the wait. 

Breathe in through the nose.

Breathe out through the mouth.

Jason doesn't _not_ see the glaring significance to it. He does still have both eyes after all.

This room is Bruce stripped of all of his identities, not a Bat, not even a Bat Lite. But Bruce.

Of all the places Jason imagines Bruce wants their first time to be, he didn't think it'd be the man's master bedroom in the heart of the Manor. It's a whole lot of thoughts in his head, stacking high up one on top of the other, and if he wants to envision it at all, it's looking a fair bit like a Jenga tower but with the added difficulty of being topsy turvy with how Bruce stands there chewing on the inside of his cheeks. 

Jason is pretty sure this is Bruce's way of admitting just how fucking big of a deal this is.

He has left Red Hood in a neat little pile by the window for when he needs to scale out of the Manor the same way he came in.

While Bruce is wrapped up in just a dark green bathrobe, matching slippers, and what seems like not much else with the show of skin.

Jason's at the cusp of something he's wanted for a very long time, longer even given it took himself a fair bit of time to put it adequately into enough human words for his own head to comprehend, but it's all spilling over now. Because he can accept coincidences but never when they coincide with Bruce because Bruce is deliberate in everything he does, reasoning tangled upon reasoning even when it is inconsequential.

Bruce isn't supposed to remember that Jason's favorite colour to have always been green. Untainted even by the glow of the Lazarus Pit.

It's formal but he has also wined and dined a literal millionaire for over a year now on food truck food, so maybe this doesn't have to be weird (in the same loose sense of the word when they have gone from parent and child to zombie-son-left-unavenged and shitty-father-figure and now to something else entirely).

Steady as can be, in more or less the same words, Jason asks again: "B, may I get you to where I want you?"

Bruce doesn't ask where, Jason has made that _where_ very clear on top of some gargoyles as he was building up to his point all those months ago. Jason was talking about himself, and now, Jason is making sure it can be about them both.

He wants Bruce splayed out on his back with his eyes out of focus, blown all dark and wide with anticipation. He wants Bruce flushing warm and murmuring Jason's name like he's what he wants most. Bruce all loose and heavy and pliant, Jason's hand on his throat, the other around his cock. Both squeezing down on a grip that's so fucking tender, there might be tears in Bruce's eyes that same moment Jason rubs a thumb over the slit, works the precum against his skin. Jason wants Bruce panting on that first rush of air on the release, Jason's name still on his tongue, riding high on endorphins and coming down slowly from an orgasm that hits like nothing before. 

He wants, he wants. He _wants_. 

Bruce's answer comes, unfaltering, like he's been waiting for the question to be asked once more since that very first time: "Yes."

"On the bed for me then." 

Jason pulls that first Jenga block out. The tower stays still even as the bed dips beneath Bruce's weight.

"You can sit up against the headboard if you’d like."

Bruce follows that too, his hands staying still over the knot keeping his bathrobe from splaying open. 

"That's good," Jason tells him, watching the way that simple praise makes Bruce suck in the smallest of breaths.

Jason is stripped down to just his briefs, has been since he first stood waiting in Bruce's bedroom for the man to come out of the Bat to come up from the Cave. He is dripping water from the ends of his hair, skin still tinged pink from scrubbing the grit of sweat and the cling of Gotham. He doesn't smell of anything when he steps close but that hits Jason just as hard when he knows the exact kind of scentless shampoo and soap that's kept in the Cave showers. 

Bruce’s eyes don’t stray from him, tracks him from the end of the bed to around the side until Jason is joining him on it. He puts a knee up, slides it across the sheets and it feels expensive, imported from somewhere obscure with probably what is some ridiculously high thread count. The mattress sinks beneath the weight of them combined.

It’s minuscule the way Bruce moves, spreads his thighs apart just that little bit to make room for Jason to kneel over him. It's really nothing at all, but the movement feels loud as Bruce does it, to be described as world realigning if Jason sees his whole world as just Bruce. 

(He doesn't, he used to though.)

Both hands at the knot, the terry cloth soft. It unravels simply but Jason pauses in pushing the bathrobe apart to lay down an expectation or two. Makes a promise or five in the way he looks at him.

“I’m not going to fuck you," he says it like it's a casual thing, "not tonight anyways. But I intend to keep my word.”

Jason is sure he's let plenty slip after his initial confession. Jason is also pretty sure Bruce knows every slip he's made by heart.

As Bruce swallows, Jason's eyes track the movement, thinks for a good long second how a ring of bruises in the shape of his mouth would look magnificent around that throat. 

He sits straddling over one of Bruce’s thigh. The position is perfect, gives him just the right height to take in all of Bruce as he rests reclined against the headboard. If Jason tips his weight forwards, he could press the breadth of his thigh to Bruce’s groin, let the man rock against him if he so wishes. 

One more thing he wants to do to Bruce. 

One more on a list of plenty he might just get a chance to work his way down if tonight goes the way he wants. 

With one hand at Bruce's hips, the other comes up to brush at the man's jaw. 

"So," Jason asks, and he sounds patient even if he isn't. It's bright eyed anticipation set alight when he tilts Bruce's jaw upwards so he can stare at the way his mouth parts for him. "Are you going to let me be good to you?"

“Yes," a pause, and this too is significant, " _please_.”

It is Bruce who surges upwards, presses their lips together. There is none of the finesse that Brucie Wayne has and none of the detached cool stoicism of the Bat. His bathrobe falls open with ease from the sudden move, left with just the man himself, the kiss gives way to bare skin. Jason smiles into it, asserts a bit more force to the pin he has on Bruce's hips and presses him back down to the bed.

_Oh_ , he thinks, he's going to ruin these thousand count sheets.

Bruce is a man of his words.

He isn't just good, he is _so_ good for him. He arches his spine, leaning into him, and it takes all of Jason's focus to keep working his mouth against the length of Bruce's cock instead of pulling off entirely to kiss the man: Fuck his tongue into his mouth, smear the bitter salty taste of his own precum across Bruce's palate, give him a taste of himself until he swallows all of it down. Until it's just Jason left, sucking at the tip of his tongue, sinking his teeth down against the swell of Bruce's bottom lip.

Jason kisses his way back up, his tongue tracing a vein before pressing flat and broad just below the crown. He holds himself there just taking in the sight of Bruce's enraptured expression from beneath his lashes. He doesn't shy away from admitting that he loves Bruce. But it's still kind of embarrassing when he knows Bruce is only figuring out the depth of his own feelings. So he hides it in the way he just dives right back in, wraps his lips around the head, sinks down as far as he can go and hollows his cheeks. 

Bruce takes it.

And he takes it so perfectly.

When he groans, it's a faint soft noise, and Jason would have missed it all together if he wasn't anticipating it. It gets Jason to slowly pull off with a resoundingly loud pop, lifting his head up from where he is pulling out all the stops to give Bruce the messy sloppy blowjob of his dreams. His thumb brushes back and forth over the bare patch of skin where his hand is still resting at Bruce's hips.

"Feels good?" Jason asks, eyes wane, gaze warm at the sight of sweat across Bruce's temples. 

And Bruce sounds wrecked when he answers on a rasp: "Very."

Jason smiles, and it's probably a little bit dopey. 

"...Is it too much if I say I want us to come together, Jay?"

Jason isn't sure what surprises him. The way they both tinge pink a little at the full realization of what Bruce is asking for. Bruce for the fact that he asked at all, Jason for the simple awe that floods into him with knowing that Bruce wants this just as much as him. It's intimacy. And Jason doesn't call it making love only because they might both simultaneously combust. The warmth emitting from Bruce's skin settles something that Jason isn't even sure existed in him. 

Because here is the bottom line: Jason wants to be easy for Bruce. Doesn't want to be the only option or an ultimatum or a hundred thousand other hard choices Bruce had to make to get to this point. He wants to be an indulgence, not a sacrifice.

Jason wants to be what Bruce picks if given all the options in the world. 

"You'd do as I ask then."

Bruce dips his head once in a nod, swallowing thickly at the authority in those words. The bob of his Adam's apple, and Jason _wants_ , more than anything, to leave the imprint of his fingertips around Bruce's neck like a string of pearls pulling taut. He's pretty sure Bruce knows.

It's in the way he doesn't say _no_.

Goes even further when he tips his head back against the pillows and exposes his throat to him in invitation, a suck of a breath in, and Bruce submits beautifully. Doesn't even flinch at the first touch of Jason's hands at his throat. 

Bruce takes to following Jason's instructions when he takes them both in hand. There is enough precum to make it good, the slide of it slick and hot, but Jason wants it to feel better than just good. A little bit of lube and their cocks are caught in that perfect grip Bruce has on them both. His palms feel broad as he keeps up every jerk of his wrists, the callouses of his fingers rubbing at all the sensitive spots from the base of their erections to the very tip.

Jason's thumb brushes against the hollow of Bruce's throat, and Bruce stutters in his movement, squeezing down just that bit tighter, getting them both to gasp, especially when Jason follows through with wrapping his hands fully around Bruce's throat. 

His pulse beneath his fingertips.

His thumbs pressing down on the carotid arteries. He watches him closely, commits all of it to memory because this, right here, is important, like most things Bruce Wayne are to him. Jason sees the way Bruce's mouth falls open, the way the man's eyes are only left with a thin ring of blue, pupils blown wide and dark. It's pleasure, and there's so much of it.

"Look at how perfect you are for me," he coos, "you aren't even twitching to fight me off of you. I know how hard that must be for you, Bruce." Jason applies a little more pressure, leans over him and grazes their lips together, and it's such a gentle thing. "If it was anyone else, you'd have put them down on the ground before they ever even get within three feet of you."

Bruce makes a noise, a noise that can only really be called a keen. It sounds like such a foreign thing coming from the man in combination with the fact that Bruce is still doing his best to jerk them off even when his pace falters.

"Let alone get as close as to be able to wrap their hands around your neck like _this_."

Jason lowers his voice, lets the rumble of his words cascade over Bruce. And they both share a hitch in their shallow ragged breathing when Bruce swipes his thumb over the head of their cocks, slackens his grip just a little to let Jason rut against him, fucking into his fist. Through gritted teeth, Jason keeps at it.

"Getting us both off," a good long groan to punctuate just how good it feels, "like that's all you're good for."

Bruce fucking shivers.

Several things happen all at once: Jason lets go, runs his hands up from Bruce's throat to cup his jaw, lets the man take that gulping gasp of air into his lungs like he's been pleading for with that glassy sheen in his eyes. It's a rush. A sweet one. When they come, they spill white over Bruce's hands, sticky and warm. Jason captures Bruce's mouth, steals the literal breath from his lungs once more.

And if Jason is greedy for it, then Bruce is downright ravenous.

Bruce sinks into the kiss, lids sliding shut.

The next time Bruce opens his eyes, he is cracking open an eye at the touch of something cool and damp against his still flushed skin. He glances over and Jason is cleaning him with a wet wipe. A wet wipe that came from one of Red Hood's pockets. Bruce doesn't bother with a comment, just drops his head back down against the pillows again with a soft huff.

The sight of Jason's smile, curling crooked across his lips, is the only thing that Bruce really cares to see.

He commits it to memory.


End file.
